Debt of Honor
by Dreamin
Summary: Sherlolly AU: Dr. Molly Hooper enters into an arranged marriage to a man she despises. Will her feelings ever change? Non-TAB Victorian. Cover by simplyshelbs16.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is being written to fill a prompt by SimplyShelbs16:

"Do you want me to leave?"  
"I am not losing you again!"

Therefore, it is dedicated to SimplyShelbs16.

I'm not sure where the rating will end up on this, but for now let's call it a hard T.

* * *

Everyone knew the Holmes family was obscenely rich. Everyone also knew the Holmes brothers were cold and calculating, but never cruel.

 _No,_ Dr. Molly Hooper thought. _To be cruel, you have to hate something. To hate something, you have to be capable of emotion._

Molly's father and the elder Holmes brother, Mycroft, were arranging a marriage between herself and the younger brother, Sherlock. Mr. Hooper told her he was satisfied with the knowledge that when his time came, his only child would not be alone. Sherlock, for his part, would achieve a level of respectability he could never hope to obtain as a bachelor.

 _Not that respectability matters to him,_ she thought, _but it will make his family and Dr. Watson breathe a little easier._

The first meeting between the prospective couple had been, needless to say, an unpromising one. Molly was now on her way to their second meeting at Musgrave Hall, the Holmes family's country estate. Mycroft and Sherlock's parents had invited her and her father to spend the weekend with them and her father had insisted they go. As the scenery passed outside the carriage, Molly sat back and thought about their first meeting.

 _She and her father took a hansom to Sherlock's building on Baker Street. Mycroft had assured them that, despite his brother's irregular working hours, the younger Holmes would be in residence that day. After the amicable landlady escorted them upstairs, Molly found herself in a very masculine sitting room, face-to-face with the unequivocally male Sherlock Holmes._

 _As in, walking around his flat completely nude._

Oh my… _she thought as she saw his perfectly-shaped buttocks._ It seems the younger Holmes is quite the specimen.

 _With his back to them, Sherlock didn't notice them at first; he was too busy fiddling with something on the mantle. Then he turned and Molly was struck by two sights: his incredibly handsome face and his impressive manhood._

 _She couldn't help it, she gaped at him. Sherlock lived up to his stoic reputation, his eyes widening only slightly when he saw her._

 _Her father immediately tried to cover her eyes. Molly, despite her unmarried status and complete lack of experience in sexual matters, refused to let him; she had seen plenty of unclothed men, albeit deceased ones, in the morgue she worked at._

" _Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft bellowed, having just arrived. "Put your trousers on!"_

 _Sherlock shook his head a bit as if to clear it. "Er, yes, quite," he muttered._

 _Molly averted her eyes as he walked past them and out of the sitting room, but she knew the sight of every blessed inch of William Sherlock Scott Holmes would stay with her for a very long time._

"You needn't concern yourself, my girl," Mr. Hooper said, jarring her out of her thoughts. "Mycroft has assured me that his brother will be on his very best behavior this time."

"I'm sure he will be, Papa," she said, gently patting his hand. Her father went back to his reading and she went back to her thoughts.

 _Once Sherlock returned fully-dressed, Mycroft insisted that he apologize for his indecency. Sherlock ignored him in favor of sitting a respectful distance beside Molly on the settee. Molly found the scent of his citrus-and-sandalwood cologne to be irresistible, and she did her best not to let her sudden interest show on her face. The younger Holmes brother was famous throughout London for his rather cutting deductions and the last thing she wanted was to be in the line of fire._

 _Sherlock smirked. "It appears this will be quite a trade, Dr. Hooper – my family's money for your family's respectability."_

 _For the second time that day, Molly gaped at him. "I assure you, Mr. Holmes, we are not in need of your money. My father simply wants someone to take care of me-"_

" _After he's gone," Sherlock finished. "That might be what he told you, but one look at him tells me that he cares far more about not leaving you with any debts." He turned to her father, who was sitting in the nearby chair. "Gambling, is it? The so-called 'debt of honor.'" Sherlock turned back to Molly. "A debt to a tradesman can be ignored by 'polite' society, despite the financial ruin it brings to the tradesman. But a gambling debt to another 'gentleman'? They must be paid or the debtor will lose face."_

 _Molly desperately turned to her father. "Please, Papa, tell him it isn't true! Tell him you would never be so irresponsible!"_

 _Her father looked away. "I cannot," he said quietly. "Mr. Holmes is right, I lost a great deal of money at cards. If you do not marry him, we will lose everything."_

 _She turned to Sherlock, her shock turning to anger. "Why could you not keep that deduction to yourself? There was no need to tell me."_

" _I would much rather have you marry me with your eyes open," Sherlock said. "With no love between us, I wish to avoid all other illusions as well."_

The memory ceased as she felt the carriage slow to a stop. _There is certainly no love between us, Mr. Holmes,_ she thought bitterly as she stepped out of the carriage with the aid of a footman.

Molly looked up at the imposing manor that was to be her home for the next three days.

"Welcome to Musgrave Hall."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The Holmes parents' first names are from William S. Baring-Gould's _Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street_.

* * *

"Welcome to Musgrave Hall," an older man Molly assumed to be Sherlock and Mycroft's father said proudly.

 _He looks just like Sherlock,_ she thought. _The woman with him must be their mother, Sherlock has her eyes._

The woman gave the man a gentle nudge in the ribs and the man laughed softly. "Where are my manners? I'm Siger Holmes and this is my lovely wife, Violet. The boys would be here to greet you except that Mycroft is stuck at Whitehall, he won't be here until tomorrow, and Sherlock, well…"

"Sherlock has taken to hiding like a small child," Mrs. Holmes said, her disapproval clear. "You'd think he was three instead of thirty."

Her father chuckled. "Some people are simply anxious around strangers, or near-strangers as the case may be. I'm Edward Hooper and this, as I'm sure you've guessed, is Molly."

Mrs. Holmes' expression went from disapproving to beaming in an instant. "Aren't you lovely, my dear? And a doctor! I'm very glad that Sherlock will have a wife who can keep up with him intellectually." She took Molly's arm and walked with her towards the manor. "You'll be in the Blue Room, Sherlock insisted on it. It overlooks the lake. Dinner is at eight, that gives you plenty of time to rest after your journey, you must be exhausted."

 _Not a bit,_ Molly thought. "Actually-"

"We have so much to discuss," Mrs. Holmes continued, and Molly couldn't tell if the older woman was ignoring her or simply hadn't heard her. "Since you are without a mother, you poor child, and I am without a daughter, I insist on helping you with the wedding preparations."

"Oh, um, thank you?" Molly said, surprised at her declaration. "That's very kind of you-"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Holmes said, smiling a bit as they walked through the front doors. "I'm not about to let you tackle such an undertaking by yourself. After all, with over five hundred guests, and that's just on our side, there is much to do."

Molly stared at her. _Five hundred?! Is she inviting half of London?_ "I … thought the wedding would be a private affair, considering it's not a love match."

Mrs. Holmes scoffed. "Your wedding will be the high point of the social season, love match or no." One of the maids approached them and Mrs. Holmes let go of Molly's arm. "Here's Abigail, she'll be your lady's maid while you're here. I couldn't believe it when Mycroft said you don't have your own." She shook her head in disbelief. "Sherlock will fix that after you're married."

Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, all Molly could say was, "Yes, Mrs. Holmes."

Mrs. Holmes smiled a bit. "None of that, call me Violet."

"Er, yes, Violet."

After Abigail showed her to the Blue Room, Molly insisted she didn't need any help undressing. "But you can help me dress for dinner later."

"I'll be back at seven then, Doctor," Abigail said then she curtsied and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Molly nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw that Sherlock had been hiding behind it. "Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock quickly put a hand to her mouth. "Quiet," he murmured, "unless you want to have your reputation ruined. I've waited all day for you to finally arrive. You're late."

Molly stared at him. "You waited all day in this room," she glanced around the light, feminine, pale blue and white room before turning back to him, "for me?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We started on the wrong foot last time."

 _I'll say._ Molly raised an eyebrow. "So, after seeing you in your sitting room without a stitch on and rudely revealing the real reason for our marriage, you thought scaring the life out of me in my bedroom would be an improvement?"

"Er … yes, I see now how that I may have misjudged the situation…"

Molly took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten then she said coldly, "You, Mr. Holmes, are no gentleman. I will marry you because I have no choice, but until then I suggest we spend as little time as possible together, and certainly not alone in my bedroom."

"Despite what Dr. Watson's stories would have the general public think, I have never claimed to be a gentleman. I have neither the time nor the desire to deal with false niceties and I have never suffered fools at all, let alone gladly."

"And what would you consider me?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Sherlock's eyes briefly strayed to her bosom before he brought them back up to meet hers. "Not a fool, certainly."

"Then what?"

"An intelligent woman who is nonetheless unwilling to face change with an open mind."

She stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are unwilling to see this marriage as I do – a chance at a fulfilling professional partnership."

Molly could feel the beginning of a headache. "Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock, please," he cut in.

She ignored him. "Mr. Holmes, we do not work together-"

"But we could," Sherlock said, looking almost gleeful. "When my brother informed me that you are a pathologist at St. Bartholomew's, I immediately went there and inquired after you. Dr. Stamford, he's an old acquaintance of mine, said that you are the most competent pathologist he has ever worked with. As the pathologists at the hospital I currently work with, which shall remain nameless, are incompetent, I have convinced Detective Inspector Lestrade and the others to have their interesting corpses brought to you."

Her headache now fully-fledged inside her skull, Molly reclined on the chaise lounge. She closed her eyes and wished sending the exasperating "consulting detective" out of the room was just as easy. Bringing a hand to her forehead, she muttered, "Mr. Holmes, I have only been working at the morgue for five years. In that time, I have autopsied no more than two dozen murder victims. Surely there is someone else with more experience who is qualified to help you."

"Nonsense," Sherlock declared and Molly couldn't help wondering if he knew how much like his mother he sounded at that moment. "You have more than enough experience to start with, and when you consider the number of corpses that will be coming your way, you will soon have all the experience you need."

She heard him move closer to her and she opened her eyes in time to see Sherlock lift her feet just high enough for him to sit down and put them in his lap.

"Mr. Holmes, exactly what do you think you're doing?" she demanded in as loud of a voice as she dared.

Sherlock smirked. "Seeing to my fiancée's comfort, naturally. I noticed you have a headache." He started to untie the laces of her boots.

Molly tried to remove her feet from his hands but his grasp, though gentle, was too strong. "The pain is in my head, not my feet."

Sherlock ignored her protestations as he removed one boot then the other.

"Mr. Holmes, this is highly-" She interrupted herself by moaning quietly as he started to massage her feet. "Oh God…"

"Call me Sherlock," he replied, smirking.

It was only his hands holding her feet in place that kept her from kicking him. She was about to call him on his arrogance when there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's left reviews or favs so far, you're the best!

I'm not doing any real research for this at all (I've read enough books and seen enough TV and movies that I think I can wing it), but if something is glaringly non-Victorian, please let me know.

* * *

"Molly?" asked the person on the other side of the door.

Molly's eyes widened and she turned to Sherlock. "It's my father," she whispered. "He can't find you in here."

"He won't," Sherlock assured her. He set her feet on the floor then quickly got up and moved beside the door.

She took a deep breath got up and went to the door, her eyes meeting his briefly before she opened it and smiled at her father, hiding Sherlock from his view. "Hello, Papa. Is something wrong?"

"I heard you groaning, I thought you might be injured."

Molly couldn't help the blush that spread across her cheeks. "I … um … stubbed my toe, but I'm fine now."

Her father raised an eyebrow, smiling a bit. "While you and Mr. Holmes are getting to know one another, you should discuss having the wedding sooner rather than later." Mr. Hooper stepped fully into the room then closed the door, grinning at Sherlock's surprised face. "Isn't that right, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock blinked. "Er … yes, Mr. Hooper."

"I should take you both to the parson right now," he smiled fondly at Molly, "but your mother and I were caught kissing a time or two before our wedding, so I think I can be lenient."

"We weren't kissing," Molly said, her blush deepening.

"Of course, my girl," Mr. Hooper said, his smile turning indulgent. He turned to Sherlock. "In either case, you'd better present yourself to your mother, Mr. Holmes, before she tears the manor apart."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'm sure to get a lecture on my bad manners regarding our guests."

Mr. Hooper chuckled. "That's a mother's prerogative. I'll see you both at dinner." He left, closing the door behind him.

Molly let out a sigh of relief then noticed Sherlock's eyes were on her mouth. "Until this evening, Mr. Holmes."

His eyes met hers as he smirked. "We are engaged now, even the stuffiest of matrons would agree it's proper for us to call each other by our Christian names."

Molly smirked back. "Alright, William."

Sherlock chuckled. "You make an excellent point, Margaret – we should call each other by our preferred names."

"Only when we're alone, which will be seldom."

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps your father is right, perhaps we should have the wedding soon."

She mimicked his expression. _Is that so?_ "Are you that eager to begin marital relations, Sherlock?"

His eyes strayed to her lips again then back to her eyes when she cleared her throat impatiently. "I simply want to be done with this excess formality. It's faster to call you Molly than Dr. Hooper, just as it is faster to call you 'my wife' instead of 'my fiancée.'" Sherlock's eyes strayed to her bosom again and Molly could swear she saw a hint of color to his cheeks. "As for marital relations, we needn't concern ourselves too much with that – neither of us needs to have children."

"Your brother will inherit this estate but he has no sons, therefore you would be his heir. If you die without sons, who would inherit Musgrave Hall?"

"My cousin Stephen, but not to worry – my parents are putting immense pressure on Mycroft to marry and reproduce." Sherlock made a disgusted face. "He seems to have his eye on a Miss Anthea something-or-other." He smirked. "Perhaps seeing me 'happily' married will give him the encouragement needed."

"You don't think our marriage will be happy?"

"I think very few marriages are. At least you and I are better suited than most couples – we are both practical, unsentimental people."

"I admit that I am practical, but what makes you think I am unsentimental?"

Sherlock smiled a bit. "You are twenty-seven and have never been engaged until now. If you believed in love, you would have found it."

Molly took a deep breath. "I have never been engaged before now not because I don't believe in love but because I do and have not found the right person." She looked him up and down. "I'm still wondering."

"There is still time to call it off, if you think you can find better candidates."

She glared at him. "I can't call it off, you know that. And while we may not need children, I want them. You will too, in time."

"Doubtful," Sherlock muttered, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. "I should go before Mother comes looking for me herself." After a moment's hesitation, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Until this evening." He left quickly.

Molly found herself staring at where he had been. _How can one man be such a contradiction?_

* * *

She was walking down the main staircase at precisely eight o'clock when she saw Sherlock waiting for her at the bottom of it. He was immaculately dressed in white tie and tails, and Molly found herself once again gaping at him. Sherlock looked up at she moved closer and she saw his eyes darken.

 _It's the lighting,_ she thought. _It has nothing to do with me._ He held out his hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs and she took it, then he raised her hand to his lips and softly kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. Molly found herself feeling quite flushed and lightheaded before she even had her first glass of wine.

"Good evening, Dr. Hooper," he murmured, mindful of the servants in the hall, but his eyes were dancing.

"Good … good evening, Mr. Holmes," she murmured.

"You look lovely," he said, taking in her sapphire blue evening gown.

"Thank you, you look very handsome."

He smiled a bit. "Better than I did the day we met?"

Her blush, which had just started to fade, surged anew as she remembered the sight of him on that day. "Mr. Holmes, you are incorrigible," she murmured, but she couldn't help a small smile.

Sherlock chuckled. "I'll take that as a no." He tucked the hand he still held in the crook of his elbow and walked with her down the hallway. They stopped in front of a closed door, which he opened then he stepped aside.

Molly walked into the room and was surprised to find a library instead of the expected dining room. She turned to him, confused and irritated. "Sherlock, if this is an attempt to … to damage my reputation for some reason…"

He chuckled. "Hardly. In fact, this can only help." Sherlock walked over to the large oak desk at the far end of the room and opened a drawer, pulling out a small black velvet box. He carried the box over to her, smiling at her confusion.

"I thought there wasn't going to be a ring," she said.

"Of course there's a ring; we're engaged, are we not?" Sherlock opened the box to reveal a round opal surrounded by clear round diamonds on a gold band.

"Oh, Sherlock…" she whispered, awed.

He chuckled as he removed the ring from the box and slipped it onto her left ring finger. The jewels were small enough that the ring didn't overwhelm her small hand and when she held it up to the light, she could see flashes of red and orange in the opal.

"It's like a sunset," Molly murmured. She looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Thank you, Sherlock. You didn't have to do this."

He smirked. "You're welcome, but actually, I did – my parents insisted after our first meeting that I present you with a proper engagement ring. Watson agreed with them and even went so far as insisting I buy a ring for a sentimental reason."

She couldn't help teasing him gently. "The great Sherlock Holmes would never do anything sentimental."

Sherlock chuckled. "He would when he's being pressured from all sides. I settled on that ring because the stone reminded me of sunsets and…"

"Yes?" she prompted, eager to hear his reasoning.

"The day we met, the moment I first laid eyes on you, the … erm … the sun came out and you were caught in a patch of daylight streaming through the window and … well … you shone." He cleared his throat nervously. "That must be sentimental enough because Watson approved and he is the most sentimental man I know."

She stared at him. "That was beautiful… Sherlock, we … we need to discuss what was said this afternoon."

Sherlock looked uncomfortable again. "Must we?" At her nod, he sighed heavily. "Very well, meet me here after dinner. I'll make sure we are not disturbed."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I just want to point out that the rating has gone up. No actual sex yet, but we are getting closer.

* * *

Dinner went about as well as Molly hoped – most of it was spent listening to the Holmes family's seemingly endless discussion of mathematics, politics, crime, and of all things, potatoes. It was interesting conversation, certainly, but Molly found that she would much rather listen to just Sherlock speak. He sat across from her, at his mother's insistence, and she felt herself blushing more than once as he caught her eye.

After dinner, she had tea with Violet in the parlor. The older woman reminded her about the engagement ball the following evening. Molly groaned internally at the thought of having to dance, she hadn't done so since entering medical school.

When the men had finished with their port and cigars, they rejoined the ladies. Sherlock was asked to play something on his violin but he declined. Molly wondered if he would ever play for her alone.

As soon as the others started leaving the parlor to retire for the night, she went straight to the library. Sherlock was already there, stoking the fire in the fireplace. Rubbing her chilled bare arms, Molly approached him cautiously.

Sherlock sighed quietly, still facing the fire. "I suppose your shawl is upstairs."

Molly smiled a bit. "Do you have eyes in the back of your head?"

"I don't need them with you – I doubt you could ever truly surprise me." He took off his suit jacket then finally turned to her and placed it on her shoulders.

Her eyes narrowed as she slid her arms into the sleeves. "You think I'm predictable?"

"Yes, but don't be offended, almost everyone is."

"Perhaps I will surprise you one day, Sherlock."

He smirked. "I look forward to seeing you try. Sit down, Molly." He gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. She sat down while he went over to the small bar. "Would you like some wine? Or should I ring for tea?"

"Wine, I suppose. I only had half a glass with dinner."

"Very sensible of you." He poured a half-glass of wine for her and a glass of scotch for himself then gave Molly her glass before sitting across from her. "Shall we begin?"

She took a sip of her wine before nodding. "Do you want to start with children or marital relations?" Molly knew she couldn't blame her sudden blush on the wine.

Sherlock smirked. "As one leads to the other, better to start with marital relations."

She took a deep breath then asked one question that had been on her mind since she'd seen him in the all-together. "Have you ever..."

"Had marital relations?" He smiled a bit. "Considering I have never been married, no. Have I ever had pre-martial relations? Well, they say a gentleman never tells…"

Molly smiled a bit. "But you're no gentleman."

Sherlock grinned. "Precisely." He took a sip of his scotch. "You do realize this is not something men normally discuss with their fiancées."

"I can imagine, but you and I are not exactly a normal couple."

He chuckled. "I hope we never are. My first time was with a member of the _demi-monde_." Sherlock smiled fondly. "She taught me a great deal about pleasure, both giving and receiving."

Molly couldn't help feeling a frisson of jealousy. "Do you still … um … see her?"

"No, she married a foreign count two years after I met her." He smiled a bit. "They currently live on the Continent with their four children."

"Have there been … others?" she asked carefully.

"No one else of the _demi-monde_ , but there has been the occasional 'merry widow.'" He noted her look of concern. "All of that is in the past, Molly. I am completely faithful to you. I spend part of my time chasing after adulterous husbands, I have no intention of becoming one."

"I … appreciate that, Sherlock." At his expectant look, she added, "I am faithful to you, of course, and not just because of my moral view."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

She felt her blush returning. "It's because you are simply the handsomest man I have ever met and I cannot see myself ever desiring anyone else."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment then he chuckled softly. "I don't know if I should thank you or the wine for such flattery."

"It's not the wine," Molly insisted. "And it's not flattery."

Sherlock lowered his voice to an absolutely sinful level. "Then I must congratulate myself for giving you an unintentional preview of our wedding night. I am very glad to have met with your approval."

Molly felt like her entire face was flushing. "I … er … what were you doing in your sitting room in that state?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Would you believe I had simply misjudged the time?"

Molly gave him a skeptical look. "I can believe you misjudged the time, yes, what I can't believe is that you forgot where your dressing gown was."

"Touché. It is not unheard of for me to walk around my flat in nothing but a sheet, or nothing at all." He smiled a bit. "Of course, that is only when I'm not expecting company."

"I hope that is another thing that will end with our marriage."

Sherlock grinned. "Expecting company?"

Molly groaned quietly. "You running around your flat in the nude."

He chuckled. "I promise to always be covered."

"By more than a sheet, I hope."

"Of that, I make no promises."

She laughed softly, assuming he wasn't serious. She took another sip of her wine. "Sherlock … how often do you think you will want … marital relations?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think it's time we call a spade a spade? We are both adults and you're a doctor, surely we can use the proper term."

She sighed. "Sex. How often do you think you will want sex?"

"Every hour on the hour." He chuckled at her shock. "In all serious, I can't imagine I'll want it all that much."

"Oh," she said quietly, inexplicably disappointed. _Why am I not delighted to hear that? It's not as if I wanted to submit to him every night._

"Do not misunderstand, you are a very attractive woman, Molly," Sherlock added. "I simply do not feel lust as much as other men." He took another sip of his scotch. "What of your needs?"

Molly stared at him. "My needs?"

"Yes, of course. Women have sexual needs the same as men so I ask you, how often do you think **you** will want sex?"

"I … I haven't thought about it. I don't think I have any needs."

Sherlock smiled knowingly. "You're lying, Molly, either just to me or to yourself as well. Surely after my unintentional display, you felt something."

She blushed brightly. "Yes, but won't our wedding night assuage that need?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps." Sherlock smiled teasingly. "There is always the possibility, though, that one time won't be enough."

"Is that what it's like for men? Is that why they keep going back to their wives or seeking out ladies of the night?"

"That's what it's like for everyone, Molly," he murmured. "Sex isn't something you have just once and you're done with it. The first time is often more awkward than pleasurable anyway."

"Plus, a woman's first time is painful." She was not looking forward to that. _Lie back and think of England, my foot._

Sherlock reached over to take her hand, squeezing it lightly. "There are things the man can do to make it less so. I will do my best not to hurt you."

"Thank you," she murmured. Molly looked down at their hands then raised her eyes to his. "What was your first time like?"

He chuckled. "I'm not about to tell my future wife of my assignations with a soiled dove. Even I have my standards."

"I don't need details, Sherlock, just … impressions. A man's first time isn't painful."

Sherlock sighed reluctantly. "Very well, I will indulge you. Correct, a man's first time isn't painful, but it is … intense."

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen. I was earning money from solving cases by that time and finally had enough saved that I could afford to patronize one of the higher-end brothels."

She blushed again. "You said it was intense?"

"Yes, the pleasure was more than I expected after years of pleasuring myself."

Molly stared at him. "You must be aware of the current medical literature-"

"That states masturbation is detrimental to a person's mental and physical health?" Sherlock smirked. "I am and I can say with absolute certainty that I have proven the medical 'experts' wrong many times over the years."

"Sherlock!" Molly gasped.

He chuckled. "If I have offended you, I would apologize except I'm not at all sorry."

"I'm not offended…"

"Aroused, then?" There was a definite twinkle in his eye.

"I … um …. perhaps?"

"I could help you with that." The smoldering look in his eyes made her feel warm all over.

"I … I don't want to have to summon the parson myself."

He chuckled. "We wouldn't go that far." He set his drink down on a nearby end table then looked at her. "Come, sit in my lap."

"Sherlock…"

"We will both remain fully clothed, I promise."

She hesitated for a moment then she stood up.

"You might want to remove my jacket." Sherlock smiled a bit. "Don't worry, I'll keep you warm."

Molly took it off, feeling the chill immediately despite the warmth from the fire, then she carefully laid the jacket on the back of her chair. After a moment's hesitation, she sat across Sherlock's lap.

He wrapped his arms around her and she did indeed feel his body heat seep into her. "There," he murmured in her ear, "isn't that better?"

She nodded, tilting her chin up to look at him. "You were saying something about helping me?"

Sherlock smirked. "You mean just holding you isn't enough?" Before she could reply, he captured her lips with his.

Molly's eyes drifted closed as she felt herself lost in a sea of sensation. The feeling of his soft, pliable lips on hers, his strong arms around her securely, the warmth of his body, the moans coming from him, _or is that me?_ She kissed him back with enthusiasm. He chuckled at her unskilled attempt, this being her first ever kiss.

She pulled back, blushing hard. "I … I'm sorry. You must be able to tell that I lack any experience…"

"Yes, but I can also tell you have a great deal of passion, Molly." He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "I misspoke before about how much I will need you – I think you and I will find immense pleasure in this partnership, in and out of the bedroom."

Molly shivered under his gaze. "Sherlock, I think…" She tried to get up but he held her in place. It was then that she felt something hard beneath her. _Not "something," Margaret Anne. You know exactly what it is._ Her blush deepened.

Sherlock sighed heavily then murmured in her ear, "Forgive me. It appears my arousal has grown to match yours."

Her mouth was suddenly dry. "I … I should go," she murmured. "I don't want to tempt you."

"It's much too late for that," he murmured. "It was too late the moment we met – if I had stayed in the sitting room a second longer, you would have had empirical evidence of my attraction."

"Quite astounding evidence, I'm sure," she murmured, then blushed even brighter. "I apologize, that-"

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't apologize. It's a fortunate man whose fiancée appreciates his member even before their wedding night."

She stared at him for a moment then she laughed softly, laying her head on his shoulder. "You won't hold my innocence against me, then?"

"Never," he murmured. "Besides, you won't be innocent for long."

She brought a finger up to lightly trace over the sternocleidomastoid muscle in his neck and felt him shiver. "Sherlock," she murmured, "we haven't discussed children yet."

He sighed heavily. "I have no desire for children."

Molly lifted her head to stare at him. "Why?"

"Why do you want them?" he countered. "People want children because they seek immortality. You and I will find immortality through our work."

"It's not the same. I want someone to love and nurture, someone who is part me … and part you."

He stared at her. "Molly…"

"Just … think about it," she said softly. "For me? Please?"

He sighed heavily. "Very well."

"Thank you." She softly kissed his cheek then he turned his head and claimed her mouth again. One thought remained before all thinking stopped from sheer bliss.

 _I will make him understand, somehow._


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Molly had breakfast with her father and Sherlock's parents. Sherlock was absent – Violet said that he rarely ate with them, preferring to eat in his room. After breakfast, her father and Mr. Holmes decided to go fishing, leaving Molly alone with Violet.

"May I offer you some advice, my dear?" the older woman asked, smiling a bit.

"Um, yes, of course."

"Never hesitate to remind Sherlock that he needs you as much as you need him."

Molly nearly choked on her tea. "I'm sorry?"

Violet smiled a bit. "My younger son is convinced that he can navigate this world solo. It is your job to remind him that none of us can survive on our own, even the great Sherlock Holmes."

She smiled softly. "Yes, I'll remind him."

"Good." She smiled mischievously. "You thought I was speaking of the bedroom."

"Well, the thought did cross my mind…"

Violet chuckled. "I've seen the way he looks at you, my dear. He couldn't keep his eyes off you at dinner."

Molly blushed slightly at the memory of what happened later that night and couldn't help a small smile.

"I do hope you're not letting him take any unwanted liberties." Violet smiled a bit. "I know how charming he can be when he wants something."

"He's only taking wanted liberties," she said, blushing brighter.

Violet chuckled. "As long as you don't let things get out of hand, I'm sure that's fine. Since it is just the two of us this morning, is there anything you wanted to ask me about married life?"

Molly hesitated a moment. "Did you and Mr. Holmes both want children?"

"Yes, but at different times. I wanted to start right away, Siger thought we should wait – he wanted me to have as much time before children to write as I could. I was just starting my career as a mathematician, you see, writing books under a male name." She chuckled. "This was almost forty years ago. They have since been republished under my real name. There are still some fuddy-duddies in mathematics, but not nearly as many as when I was your age."

"How did you work it out?"

"We compromised – we waited a year instead of the two Siger wanted. It was still enough time for me to publish another book before Mycroft came along."

Molly smiled. "You and Mr. Holmes love each other very much."

"We do, but it was not always that way – our marriage was arranged as well."

Molly stared at her. "How long did it take for you to fall in love?"

Violet smiled a bit. "Siger has always sworn that he fell in love with me as soon as he saw me. It took a little longer for me. On our wedding night, he read poetry to me before we went to bed. Until then, I thought he was rather dull, but at that moment, I was enchanted."

Molly blushed at the thought of their first meeting. "I was enchanted with Sherlock from the moment I saw him."

Violet chuckled. "Yes, Mycroft told me all about that moment. I'm glad that Sherlock's lapse in manners didn't offend you." She glanced at the clock on the sideboard. "I must go, I have a million preparations before the ball tonight." Violet smiled a bit. "You should rest, you'll want plenty of energy for the dances."

"I will, thank you."

Back in her room, she laid down on the bed and only had her eyes closed for a moment before she felt the mattress dip. Molly eyes shot open in alarm but she relaxed when she saw it was her fiancé stretched out beside her, fully clothed.

She chuckled softly. "Sherlock…" She paused as the truth dawned on her. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

He grinned at her. "Of course, then we'd be married right away."

She lightly batted his arm and he chuckled before pulling her into his arms and kissing her softly. Molly melted in his embrace, her own hands moving up into his black curls, her mouth opening to allow his inquisitive tongue entry as he deepened the kiss.

Pressed flush against him, she could feel his arousal against her stomach. Instead of being offended as she probably should have been, it only served to make her want him more. "Sherlock…" she whispered after they broke the kiss for some desperately needed air.

"Need you," he murmured as he kissed her neck. "I want to make you mine."

"I already am yours," she murmured. _Mind, body, soul, … and heart._

Sherlock lifted his head to gaze at her. "You are pledged to be my wife, but in name, in deed, you aren't, yet."

"Would you really take me before we stand in front of a parson?"

He gazed at her a moment more before kissing her softly then letting her go. "No," he said quietly as he sat up with his back to her. "You deserve better than that."

She moved to sit beside him. "You're a good man, Sherlock."

He scoffed. "A good man would ensure he was never alone with his fiancée."

"Then I don't want a good man, I want you."

Sherlock chuckled. "You'll have me, just not now."

Molly looked at the large bulge in his trousers. "What about…"

He smirked. "I told you, I don't believe the current medical literature. I'll take care of it when I go to my room."

She couldn't help blushing at the image that made. "I … um … I hope you and I will have many opportunities to dance together tonight."

"I'm afraid your dance card will be quite full, and only occasionally by me." He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. "If you ever feel the need to cry off for a song or two, come find me."

Molly sighed softly, one hand moving into his curls. "And what will you do, get us caught kissing in the hallway?"

Sherlock raised his head to smirk at her. "In the gardens, actually. They are rather extensive, not to mention poorly lit at night. At least one couple of my acquaintance has conceived there during a party."

She smiled a bit. "I'm almost afraid to ask how you know that."

He grinned. "Watson told me last year after he and his wife Mary announced that they were expecting. You'll meet them tonight."

Molly softly kissed the hollow of his throat. "I look forward to it," she murmured against his skin.

Sherlock shivered and Molly swore the bulge in his trousers grew. "I … I think I'd better leave."

She took a deep breath. "Must you?" she murmured.

He stared at her. "Molly … you don't know what you're asking."

"On the contrary, I'm asking to watch my fiancé pleasure himself." She smiled a bit. "We can call it medical research."

Sherlock laughed weakly. "You're certain?"

Molly could feel her cheeks flushing but she knew it wasn't from shame. "Absolutely. Do you need to undress?"

"No, I just need to ... free myself," he murmured. There was color in his cheeks and he wasn't meeting her eyes.

"Sherlock, are you embarrassed?" She smiled gently. "I've seen you nude, remember?"

He chuckled quietly. "Yes, but I wasn't erect then, and you weren't about to watch me." He moved to lean against the headboard, his eyes on her. "Would you like to do the honors, Doctor?" He gestured to the fastenings on his trousers.

"Mmm." She unfastened his trousers then, with his help, lowered them past his hips. She looked up at his smirk. "Sherlock Holmes, where are your pants?"

He laughed softly. "I rarely wear them."

"I'll keep that in mind." _As if I could forget!_ She looked down again, taking in the sight of her fiancé's erection. _I thought he was big before, but this is massive…_ Her cheeks were flaming now but the last thing she wanted to do was stop.

He wrapped his large hand around the shaft and slowly started to stroke himself. Molly was mesmerized at the sight, and at the sound of Sherlock's low moans.

"Sherlock," she murmured, "I'm so…" Unable to finish her thought, she moved closer and kissed him deeply.

He kissed her back, his moans filling her mouth as he neared his completion. Molly pulled back after a moment to watch him, his other hand coming up to fondle his balls.

 _Dear God,_ she thought, _if just watching him makes me this aroused, I can only imagine what being with him will do to me._

Sherlock was panting, she saw his balls tighten, and she knew what was about to happen. Molly kissed him again as she cupped a hand over the head. Sherlock cried out his release into her mouth as his seed spurted onto her hand.

He stared at her when she pulled back. "Molly," he murmured breathlessly, "that… You didn't have to do that…"

She kissed him softly. "I didn't want anyone to hear you, and I didn't want you to make a mess on your clothes." She pulled out a handkerchief from underneath her pillow and wiped off her hand.

Sherlock pulled her tightly to him and kissed her fiercely. She kissed him back just as fiercely then he pulled back, gazing at her.

"You, Molly Hooper, are simply amazing."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I've received some comments about actual Victorian propriety. Yeah, not gonna lie, these two passed that in chapter one. They're going even farther past it now. ;)

* * *

She sat between his legs, her back against his chest and his arms wrapped around her.

"Sherlock?" Molly murmured.

"Hmm?"

"You know you'll have to leave at some point, right? Both of us need to get ready for the ball."

Sherlock chuckled. "I could make a joke about balls but it's inappropriate for mixed company."

She laughed softly. "I think we left propriety behind a while ago."

"Mmm, not completely," he murmured, nuzzling her hair. "You're still a virgin."

Molly smiled a bit. "Not for much longer, at the pace we're keeping."

"I told you, you deserve to have a fiancé who will wait. I will take liberties with you, Molly, but not that last one. We must, after all, save something for our wedding night."

"Mmm…" She brought her hands up to rub his forearms. "Why are we like this?"

"Like what?" he murmured.

"We barely know each other and we're being forced to marry. Other couples in our position despise each other, yet we cannot be together enough."

"One, we are very well-suited, but don't tell my brother that." She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Two, we are passionate people who simply needed the right person to draw out that passion. Three, we had very favorable first impressions of each other."

Molly laughed softly. "Yes, you could say that."

"However, you cannot say we are being forced to marry, not anymore." Sherlock took her left hand in his. "Even if I had my pick of any woman in the world, I would still choose you."

She remembered his words from the day before. "Partners."

"Exactly. You'll be like Watson or Lestrade."

 _Just what I always wanted._ "But more, right?"

"I don't see how you can be more important to my work than either of them."

"Not to your work, to you, Sherlock."

"We're friends, I suppose, so you are still just as important as Watson."

She turned in his arms to face him. "Sherlock, I'm going to be your wife. Shouldn't I mean more to you than that?"

He sighed quietly. "That's sentiment talking. I value my friends highly, you should be honored."

"I…" She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. "I think you should rest in your own room."

"Molly…"

She quickly got up. "I'll see you at the ball, Sherlock."

He got up then lowered his head to softly kiss her cheek. "I'll be waiting," he murmured, then he left the room.

Molly slumped onto the bed and put her head in her hands.

 _I love him._

* * *

Hours later, Molly found herself dancing yet another waltz with yet another Holmes neighbor who couldn't keep his eyes off her décolletage or his feet off her toes. She'd only danced once with Sherlock, the rather boring quadrille at the beginning of the ball, and hadn't seen him since. There had been no sign of him at dinner, despite every unoccupied footman being sent to locate him. The only high point of her evening was when she was introduced to the Watsons, whom she considered to be delightful people.

When the waltz ended and her next partner arrived, she asked to sit out the next dance. While he took it upon himself to get her some punch, Molly grabbed her shawl and escaped to the gardens.

"Sherlock?" she asked as loudly as she dared. There was no response so she ventured farther into the gardens. The only illumination was from the full moon. It made the white stone pathways glow, though the rocks were hard under her dancing slippers. Blessing the clear night, she followed the path to the lake.

A dark figure stood at the edge of the water. Molly felt uneasy until she saw the curls at the top of his head.

"You certainly took your time getting here," Sherlock drawled. He turned to face her and held out his hand.

Smiling happily, she went over to him and took it. "I didn't know half the county would be on my dance card."

Sherlock kissed the back of her hand, his warmth filling her even through both of their gloves. "You look beautiful, I didn't get a chance to tell you before."

"Thank you, Sherlock. You look very handsome." The wind off the lake picked up and she shivered despite her shawl.

"Thank you." He reached out to touch her shawl. "Molly, this flimsy bit of silk barely qualifies as fabric, let alone a shawl. Come here."

She moved closer and he enveloped her in a warm hug. Molly buried her face in his chest and held him close.

"I upset you earlier," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Do you understand why I was upset?"

"You want me to think of you as something other than a friend."

"We are friends, Sherlock," she murmured. "We are going to be other things too – spouses, lovers-"

"One could argue we already are lovers," he said and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

"One could," she agreed. "My point is that I don't want to you to see me the way you see Dr. Watson or Detective Lestrade."

"How should I see you, Molly?" he murmured.

"Is there somewhere we can go that's more private?" she asked. "Anyone could stumble upon us here."

He took her hand and led her under a nearby weeping willow. Hidden by the branches, it was about as private as they could find outside. It was also about as dark. Sherlock led her to the trunk and she leaned against it, facing him. She could just make out his face in the sparse light coming through the leaves.

"Go on, Molly," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her again.

"I … I want to mean more to you than anyone else."

He sighed quietly. "Molly, this is a partnership, not a love match. I thought you understood that."

"Just because it didn't start as a love match, that doesn't mean it has to stay that way."

"I can't give you what you want."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. I am incapable of love."

"Sherlock, that is utter nonsense." She slipped a hand up past his jacket and waistcoat and laid it on the part of his fine linen shirt that covered the heart. It was beating hard. "You have a heart, even if you don't care to admit it. All I am asking for is a special place in it."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I will consider it."

"Thank you." She was about to lower her hand when Sherlock laid his over it.

"May I kiss you, Molly?" he murmured.

She smiled a bit. "It's a little late to start asking permission, don't you think?"

"But are you still going to give it?"

"Yes."

She barely got the word out before his lips were on hers. The kiss started soft and chaste but soon grew heated as she whimpered in pleasure. Sherlock pulled back after a moment.

"Molly," he murmured breathlessly, "I want to touch you… I need to touch you…"

"You are touching me," she murmured.

"Not the way I want to. Hold the front of your skirts up, sweetheart." He let her go and took off his gloves, tossing them onto the ground.

 _Sweetheart?_ Deciding not to question either his motives or the slip, she held up the front of her skirt and two petticoats, exposing her legs encased in drawers that ended just above the knee and silk stockings.

"Wrap one leg around my waist," he murmured.

"Sherlock…"

"Please, Molly."

She did as she was asked, lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist. Her skirts still bunched around her waist, Molly clung to his shoulders.

Sherlock reached down and she felt him grab each side of her drawers and before she knew it, she heard the stitches tear as he pulled the two halves apart, leaving a gaping hole in the crotch.

"Sherlock!" she gasped.

He slipped one hand under her bum, supporting her weight, then he slid his other hand through the hole, his fingers thumb moving past her curls to her already damp flesh. His thumb found her swollen clitoris and with the first stroke, Molly was almost ready to climax. Sherlock slid one long finger into her opening then another and she felt herself getting wetter with each thrust and stroke. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, trying to stay in control but Sherlock was relentless.

"Christ, you're tight… Come for me, Molly," he murmured in her ear. "I want to feel you come apart in my arms."

"Sherlock … we shouldn't…" she breathed.

"Should, shouldn't, we're beyond that now," he murmured. "I am marrying you in the morning and to hell with what anyone says. By this time tomorrow, I will have made you mine but I know I will never, ever have enough of you, Molly."

His words were enough to send her over the edge and she cried out softly, wetness coating Sherlock's fingers. He kissed her deeply then pulled back and slowly pulled his fingers out. She watched in amazement as he put them in his mouth and licked them clean.

"Sherlock…"

"Mmm, like honey."

She shook her head in disbelief and lowered her leg. Sherlock helped her straighten her skirts but Molly knew she was anything but presentable.

"I was hoping to waltz with you tonight," she said sadly.

"I believe our dance was a bit more intimate," he murmured. He held her close.

"It was," she murmured, "but I still would have liked to have that dance."

"After we're married, we can waltz as much as you like."

Molly smiled. "I will hold you to that, Sherlock."


	7. Chapter 7

Molly was walking to the breakfast room the next morning when she heard loud male voices coming from the library. Concerned, she listened at the door.

"Have you completely taken leave of your senses, Holmes?" That was John. He was normally an amiable man, but Mary said that he often blew his top when Sherlock did something "not good."

"I assure you, Watson, I am in full command of my faculties." That was her fiancé, sounding a lot calmer than his friend.

"Marrying Molly now would make everyone think you had to marry."

"If that is the case, they would see in nine months that she is not delivering their imagined baby."

"It would still damage your reputation and hers."

Sherlock sighed heavily. "I will let Molly decide." He added, slightly louder, "Come in, Molly. We can't have the servants speculating."

 _How did he know?_ She opened the door and went in, closing it behind her. Sherlock and John were seated beside the fireplace. Molly blushed as she remembered her and Sherlock's conversation there.

Both men stood up and Sherlock held out his hand. Molly crossed the room and took it.

"My dear," Sherlock said, smiling a bit, "Watson is opposed to us marrying today. What do you have to say on the subject?"

She looked at the other man. "John, could you leave us? Sherlock and I have much to discuss."

He smiled genially. "Of course, I'll see what Mary is up to."

As soon as John left, Sherlock went to the door and locked it. He returned to her with a hunger in his eyes. "Molly," he murmured, "I cannot make it any plainer – I ache for you."

"I know you do, Sherlock," she said softly, "but John is right, society will scorn us if we marry now."

Sherlock groaned in frustration. "How long will you make me wait for you?"

"Three months, no more."

"Three months?" He looked aghast. "That's a death sentence!"

Molly chuckled. "Going without sex for three months is not a death sentence, Sherlock. You'll live."

"At least I'll get to see you often."

She sighed quietly. "That's the other issue – I think we need to see less of each other before the wedding."

"Molly…"

"We can't risk the possibility of getting carried away." She gently took his hands. "Last night, under that tree, what we shared was beautiful, but we can't let something like it happen again until we're wed." She raised one hand to stroke his cheek. "I can no more resist you than you can resist me, so we need to keep our distance."

"Molly, don't, please," Sherlock murmured, desperation in his eyes. "I can behave, I know I can, but what I absolutely cannot do is go three months without seeing you."

"We'll see each other at St. Bartholomew's, I'm sure. We can see each other socially, if someone else is with us."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're saying we need a chaperone?"

She smiled a bit. "My torn drawers would suggest we need more than one."

He had the grace to look a little abashed. "Forgive me, I was … overeager."

"Sherlock, it's alright." She moved closer then wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and she felt his chin rest on her head. "You are quite a forgiving person, Molly," he murmured.

"Only with you, it seems."

"Then I will try to be worthy of you."

She looked up at him. "You are, Sherlock. I wouldn't be marrying you if you weren't."

He lowered his head to kiss her deeply. Molly kissed him back, savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, she smiled a bit. "Don't forget me while we're apart."

Sherlock smirked. "Don't worry, my cock won't allow it."

"Sherlock!" she gasped, but couldn't help a grin, or the sudden wetness between her legs.

He chuckled. "Too forward?"

"Probably ... but I liked it."

He sat down in the chair then pulled her into his lap and murmured in her ear, "In that case, Dr. Hooper, allow me to tell you how very, very desperate I am to fill your tight little cunt with my cock."

She shivered deliciously. "Sherlock…"

"After, of course, I make you dripping wet with my hands and my mouth."

"You make me wet with your voice alone," she murmured.

He nuzzled her neck. "Is that so?"

"Mmm, yes…"

"After we're wed," he kissed along her jawline, "I will make love to you day and night."

 _Make love?_ "Sherlock-"

He sighed heavily. "You're right, we should stop." Sherlock rested his forehead against hers. "Being without you is going to be torture."

"For me as well," she murmured. "You've awakened something in me, Sherlock."

"Raw, unbridled lust?" he asked, grinning.

 _Love._ "Passion." She kissed him deeply.

He kissed her back for a moment then reluctantly pulled away. "We really must stop or I'm going to drag you to the nearest church."

She nodded. "It's just a three-month wait. We can write to each other, that will help."

"Stationery paper is a poor substitute for your kisses."

* * *

Molly and her father went home the next day. She didn't see Sherlock at all for the following week, then a letter arrived for her on Friday.

 _Molly,_

 _Blast, I don't know where to begin. I miss you. I've thought about you so much this week that I am "conducting research" nightly._

 _Thoughts of you permeate my every waking moment. Watson talks about his beloved Mary and all I can think of is how much I wish to have you in my arms again._

 _I am calling on you on Saturday. I don't care what we said, I can't go any longer without seeing you._

 _Sherlock_

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly murmured, smiling. "You bloody, wonderful fool."

* * *

Molly was in the sitting room when Sherlock was announced. She stood up and he practically ran to her, not even giving her a chance to greet him before she was in his arms and he was kissing her thoroughly. Molly clung to his shoulders and kissed him back with equal passion.

"How I've missed you, Molly," he murmured in her ear when he pulled back. "I've driven my family and the Watsons to distraction, talking about you."

She shivered. "I've missed you too, Sherlock, so much," she murmured.

He kissed her again then sat with her on the nearby settee. "I must have a word with the criminal classes – there hasn't been an interesting murder all week. I kept hoping we could have our first case together."

Molly chuckled. "I'm glad to know you have your priorities in order, Sherlock."

"Mmm…" He kissed her cheek. "I want to see you in your element."

"I'm sure you will soon enough." She leaned her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. "Perhaps if we saw each other like this weekly, the separation wouldn't be so bad? We just have to behave ourselves."

He softly kissed her hair. "I will consider this a standing appointment."


	8. Chapter 8

It was another two weeks before Molly's fiancé came to her workplace. She was undressing a just-received corpse when Sherlock, John, and another man came in.

Sherlock's face lit up when he saw her. "Ah, just the lady I wanted to see." He approached her, grinning. "Hello, sweetheart. What do you have for me?" He looked as eager as a child on Christmas morning.

 _Again, he calls me sweetheart,_ she mused, wondering if he was even aware of his words. "Hello, Sherlock. I don't know yet, he just came in."

The other man cleared his throat, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock chuckled. "Molly, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. Lestrade, this is my fiancée, Dr. Molly Hooper."

"Doctor," Lestrade said, smiling a bit. "I'll admit that when Holmes first told me he was engaged to a lady doctor, and a pathologist at that, I thought he was joking."

Molly smirked. "About our engagement or my profession?"

"Both, actually. But now that I've seen you," Lestrade smiled a bit, "I can see that Dr. Watson is right, Holmes is smitten."

Molly's face lit up but her expression dimmed when she saw Sherlock's scowl. She cleared her throat nervously then went back to the body. The entire time she was undressing and examining the corpse, she felt Sherlock's eyes on her. _His gaze is like a brand,_ she thought, _searing me to the core._ "He shows clear signs of strangulation. This man was indeed murdered." Molly turned back to see Sherlock gazing at her hungrily.

John cleared his throat and Sherlock snapped out of his apparent daze. "It's obvious who the killer is," he said. "Gentlemen, I'll meet you outside, I must discuss something with my intended first."

Lestrade smirked. "Make it quick, Holmes." He and John left.

As soon as they were gone, Sherlock turned to her, looking utterly defeated. "Molly … this arrangement isn't going to work."

Molly could feel the blood leaving her face. _He wants to call off the engagement?_ "What … what do you mean?"

"I simply cannot work with you, you are far too distracting for my thought processes."

She sighed in relief. "Is that all?" she asked with a smile.

"All? Molly, the entire time you were undressing Mr. Ellsworth, I wanted to take his place."

She rolled her eyes fondly. "I sincerely hope that when it's time for me to undress you, you won't just lay there."

He growled in frustration. "Molly…"

Molly chuckled. "Sherlock, if I wasn't covered in gore, I'd kiss you right now. You're distracted because you can only imagine what it's like to be with me. Once you know, it won't be so urgent."

"I very much doubt that – once I've had you, I'll know exactly what it is I'm craving and I'm sure I'll want you all the more. You, my dear, are a distraction."

She swallowed hard. "Please, Sherlock, don't take the work away from me. I am trying so hard to prove myself to everyone."

He gazed at her for a moment longer than sighed in defeat. "Very well… I will learn to think of you here only as Dr. Hooper, my esteemed colleague, and not my fiancée." He smiled a bit. "When I call on you Saturday, remind me that I owe you a kiss."

Molly chuckled. "I seriously doubt you'll need to be reminded, Sherlock."

He grinned. "How very true." He put on his deerstalker and gloves then touched the brim of his hat, smiling at her softly. "Good day, Molly."

She smiled back happily. "Good day, Sherlock."

* * *

Unfortunately for the pair, the strangled man was just the tip of a very large iceberg – Sherlock had stumbled across a vast conspiracy. He had hoped it involved the elusive Moriarty, but alas this conspiracy centered on a secret organization with a long history and international ties. Thus, it was more than two months before Sherlock and Molly would set eyes on one another again.

Molly had been anything but idle during their forced separation – she worked, made wedding preparations with Violet, got to know Mary Watson better, and exchanged letters with Sherlock when he could. The letters grew increasingly desperate on both sides, and Molly still wondered about Sherlock's actual regard for her when he continued to call her "my dear" and "sweetheart."

In one memorable letter, he called her "my darling," but from the state of his penmanship, she suspected that he was quite drunk at the time.

She kept every letter from him in a box under her bed and wondered what he did with hers. _He probably burns them,_ she thought, _so they don't fall into the wrong hands._

* * *

On the Saturday before their wedding, Molly woke to the sensation of someone lightly stroking her hair. She opened her eyes to see Sherlock smiling down at her softly. He lay beside her, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas. A very familiar pair of striped pajamas. _Wait, are those the pajamas I bought him as a wedding gift?_

"Sherlock!" She gaped at him. "How did you get in here? Where did you find those? They were supposed to be a gift!"

Sherlock huffed. "That is a fine greeting after so long apart," he muttered.

Molly couldn't help a smile. "What were you expecting, me to melt into your arms after finding you in my room, in my bed, in the pajamas I was going to give you as wedding present? Suppose one of the maids were to see you. Or worse, my father."

He chuckled. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"Oh, come here…" She pulled him close and kissed him softly.

Sherlock kissed her back, his arms slipping around her, and his kiss soon turned passionate. Molly pulled back once she felt his arousal against her hip.

"Just a few more days," she murmured.

"After two months of not seeing you at all?" he murmured as he nuzzled her neck. "Torture." He lifted his head to gaze at her. "I was back in London late last night and the first thing I thought of was you. It was child's play to pick the locks to the front door and your bedroom."

She stared at him. "You've been here, in my bed, since last night?" _I am going to kill him._

"Of course," Sherlock said, grinning. His expression turned serious. "I couldn't go another minute without you. I normally don't sleep much at all, especially on a case, but as soon as I thought of you, I knew I wanted to spend the night beside you."

"Oh, Sherlock… Did you sleep at all?"

"Actually, I slept very well." He smiled a bit. "It must be the company. This bodes well for our marriage – Watson is always saying I should get more sleep."

Molly chuckled. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you really think either of us is going to get much sleep once we're married?"

"Mmm…" He nuzzled her hair. "Perhaps not."


	9. Chapter 9

The night before the wedding, the Holmes family invited Molly and her father to have dinner with them at Violet and Siger's elegant townhouse. Sherlock and Molly, naturally, spent most of dinner gazing at each other instead of eating. Finally, exasperated, Violet told them to moon over each other in the parlor.

They sat close together on the settee, Sherlock's arm around her. She pulled an envelope out of her purse and handed it to him.

"Why are you giving me back one of my letters?" he asked, curious and a little disappointed.

Molly chuckled. "I'm not giving it back, Sherlock, I wanted to show it to you. You probably don't even remember writing it."

Sherlock removed the letter, which was several pages long, from its envelope and started to read it. With every page, his eyes widened and his cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. Finally, he looked up at Molly. "You are correct, I don't remember writing this at all. Going by the date, I was in Russia, and I seem to recall one contact providing me with a large quantity of vodka." He sighed quietly. "I missed you a great deal and wanted to drown my sorrows."

"That I can understand," Molly said sympathetically. She smiled a bit. "What I don't understand is you calling me 'my darling.'"

"Er … that was clearly the vodka talking … writing."

Her smile widened to a grin. "And yesterday, when you called me 'sweetheart' at the morgue? Or 'my dear' when I arrived tonight?"

Sherlock cleared his throat nervously then glanced at the clock on the mantle. "Look at the time, you must be getting home. Can't have the groom and the bride see each other before the wedding."

She chuckled. "Sherlock, it's barely ten. I have plenty of time to go home. Now quit trying to distract me."

He gazed at her. "It is you who are the distraction, Molly. You are leading me away from the life I thought I wanted."

"What life is that?" she asked softly.

"A life of solitude." He gently pulled her into his lap then softly kissed her hair. "I thought I could be content with spending the rest of my life alone. I was right, I could be content, but not happy. To be happy, I've recently discovered, I need you."

"I need you too," Molly murmured. She kept her eyes on the hollow of his throat and took a deep breath. "I love you, Sherlock."

He froze. After a moment, he started to breathe again. "Molly-"

"Don't," she said quietly. "Whatever you were going to say, don't. I don't deserve to be patronized or pitied. I know you don't love me, I don't need to be reminded."

He lifted her chin so her eyes would meet his, which were filled with curiosity. "Then … why did you say it?"

She swallowed hard. "Because it's true and while it's not reciprocated, you still should know that someone loves you."

"Molly, I-"

"I'm sorry to break up your private time, Sherlock," Mycroft said from the doorway, not sound a bit remorseful, "but I do have things besides your wedding to attend to tomorrow. Coming?"

At that moment, Molly felt like she could commit fratricide without batting an eye. _Does it count as fratricide when the brother isn't yours?_

Sherlock glared at his older brother. "I'll take a hansom, Molly and I were in the middle of something."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, I heard. Let me make this easier for you, brother dear – Molly, he returns your feelings. Now, is everything settled?"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled, making Molly jump.

The elder Holmes brother rolled his eyes. "Say your goodnights, we're leaving."

"Just … give us a moment."

"Very well, I'll be in the carriage."

As soon as he was gone, Molly tried to get up but Sherlock held her firmly. She stared at him with wide eyes. "Sherlock … was Mycroft telling the truth?"

He refused to meet her eyes. "Perhaps…"

She gently took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Sherlock…"

Sherlock swallowed hard. "I fought my feelings for so long… At first, I thought it was just lust I felt for you. I was so attracted to you, it made me dizzy. Then, I thought it was friendship as well. You are so good to me, Molly. Better than I deserve. But while I was away, I realized it's not just lust or friendship that I feel for you. I … I love you, Molly."

Molly felt joy like she had never felt before. The smile she gave him was incandescent. "Oh, Sherlock…" She kissed him deeply.

Sherlock crushed her to him, kissing her back passionately until they both needed air. He gazed at her, murmuring, "One more night, my love." He smiled softly. "My love. My Molly."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you to all my Tumblr followers for helping me with this chapter.

* * *

Molly woke the morning of her wedding to the feeling of something pressing lightly on her stomach over and over. _That better not be Sherlock._ She opened her eyes to see a ginger kitten sitting on her stomach, kneading it with its tiny paws. Molly's face lit up. "Aww! Aren't you adorable?"

The kitten looked at her with big golden eyes and purred.

She sat up then picked the kitten up and kissed its dainty pink nose. A folded piece of paper with her name on it on the nightstand caught her eye. Setting the kitten on her lap, she unfolded it.

 _My darling Molly,_

 _Don't worry, I haven't seen you yet today – I asked one of the maids to deliver your wedding gift. It's a boy. I know you love cats and I thought you'd like to have one again._

 _Now that I've told you my true feelings, I cannot state it enough. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. You have held my heart from the first moment I saw you._

 _In mere hours, you and I will be one. I feel as though my entire life has been leading up to this moment. I promise to be the best husband and lover to you that I can._

 _My dear, I hope you are alone as you read this because I am about to make you blush. I am as hard as a rock as I write this letter. The thought of finally being able to fully show you the depths of my love and desire is overwhelming. I have no idea how I am going to get through the ceremony and the wedding breakfast without the entire world seeing exactly how much I need you. Women are lucky in the fact that their arousal isn't as obvious._

 _Do you consider yourself lucky, Molly? To be marrying me, that is? For I consider myself to be the luckiest man on earth to be marrying you. I am counting the minutes until I make you Dr. Molly Holmes._

 _All my love (and there is quite a bit of it),_

 _Sherlock_

Molly laughed softly. _Oh, Sherlock, I love you…_

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur of playing with the kitten, whom she named Toby II after her cat from childhood, assuring her nervous father that she indeed was making the right decision, and getting ready for the ceremony. The ivory silk gown had been her mother's and Molly hoped Sherlock would think her as lovely in it as she felt.

She was in a side room at the church, waiting for the guests to arrive, when she received a message that she was needed outside. Molly went to the small courtyard but didn't see anyone. Venturing further in, she was walking past one of the large pillars when a hand grabbed hers. Molly whirled around but could only see the person's hand and part of the arm, the rest of him was behind the pillar. She examined the hand. _I know those fingers._

"Sherlock, we can't see each other until the wedding," she murmured, leaning back against pillar as she held his hand.

He chuckled. "I couldn't wait another minute. You got my gift?"

She smiled softly. "Yes, he's adorable, thank you. And your letter was very … stimulating. Did you find a solution to your … problem?"

"Yes, I did extensive 'research' before I left Baker Street."

Molly chuckled softly as her face flamed. "You won't believe how much I'm blushing right now."

"Actually, I can believe it. I hope to make you blush a lot more tonight."

"I have no doubt you will." She gently squeezed his hand. "You excite me so much more than any man ever has."

"I can only pray that I'll live up to your expectations." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"No matter what happens tonight, I know you'll please me, Sherlock."

"Thank you, my love." His thumb stroked the back of her hand. "I know you will make me the happiest of men." He paused. "That's Watson's signal, I should go."

"Not much longer, Sherlock," she murmured.

"I await with bated breath, my darling Molly." With a final squeeze, he let go of her hand and was gone.

Molly waited for a count of ten to be certain he was out of sight then she left the courtyard.

* * *

Later, whenever she recalled her wedding, all she could remember were little moments:

 _Walking down the aisle on her father's arm and seeing Sherlock in his suit. He looked so dashing. His eyes never left hers and his expression was one of complete awe._

 _Saying her vows precisely while Sherlock stumbled over his words out of pure nervousness._

 _Him slipping her wedding ring onto her finger with no problems, while she nervously first tried to put his on his middle finger instead._

 _Being declared man and wife, and Sherlock kissing her deeply before the vicar even gave him the opportunity._

 _The absolute downpour of rice thrown by their loved ones as they walked down the church steps and into the carriage._

* * *

As soon as the carriage door was closed, Sherlock had her across his lap and was kissing her like his life depended on it. Molly clung to him and kissed him back with everything she had.

"Oh, Molly," Sherlock murmured breathlessly, "I'd take you right here if we didn't have that blasted wedding breakfast to attend."

"Where are we having the breakfast?" she asked, even though she knew perfectly well.

Sherlock must have seen the twinkle in her eye. He grinned back. "Musgrave Hall, which gives us a good hour. My dear Dr. Holmes, you're not suggesting that I deflower you right here, right now?"

She murmured in his ear, "Do you think you can do it as beautifully as you promised?"

"Yes, my darling," he murmured.

"What do you need me to do?"

Sherlock picked her up and set her down beside him, grinning wickedly. "Hold your skirts up and your legs open."

Molly did so, grinning at him. "I thought you might do something like this, so I came prepared."

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked. He knelt on the floor of the carriage between her legs, grinning up at her wide-eyed surprise. "You weren't expecting me to do this."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"This." He moved his hands to her silk drawers.

Molly knew what he'd see – several inches of the seam having been carefully taken out, so there was now a generous slit. She prayed he'd approve, the drawers were expensive.

He grinned at her. "An elegant solution, my love."

Molly nearly gasped when he lowered his head, and she did gasp, loudly, when she felt his wet tongue circle her clitoris. "Sherlock!"

He chuckled against her flesh. "Shh, sweetheart, we don't want the driver to hear us."

She felt two of his fingers slide into her already wet opening and she had to bite her fist as he thrusted them slowly in and out of her, his tongue still teasing her clit. Molly felt her pleasure rising like a wave, and just like a wave, it crested then broke, leaving her trembling and so wet, but very sated.

"Oh, Sherlock…" she whispered, gazing at him when he lifted his head to gaze at her. "That was…"

"For me too," he murmured.

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a passionate kiss. He kissed her back, his arms around her waist, holding her close.

"Sherlock…" she whispered. "I'm ready. Please, make me yours."

He nodded then moved to sit beside her. Molly eagerly helped him unfasten his trousers and push them down his thighs.

She smiled a bit. "No pants again, I see."

He smirked. "Pants are an unnecessary barrier between my cock and your lovely cunt. As are drawers. I suggest you either take out the seam of every pair you have or even better, do without them altogether."

Molly blushed, smiling. "And spend the rest of my days worried about drafts? I'll take out the seams, thank you." She looked at his cock then met his eyes. "May I touch you?"

"God, I wish you would…" he murmured, breathless.

She wrapped her hand around the base, her eyes widening slightly when she realized her thumb and fingers didn't touch. "You're … God, you're so big…" She could feel her nervousness returning.

"None of that," Sherlock murmured gently. He kissed her softly. "I've made you more than wet enough, you just need to relax, Molly. Touch me." He smiled a bit. "Get to know me."

Molly laughed weakly. "You're incorrigible, but alright." She slowly ran her hand up the shaft, feeling the softness of the skin and the ridges of each vein. Molly smiled as Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. She grinned to herself then lowered her head and gave the tip a slow lick.

Sherlock's eyes shot open. "Molly!" His cheeks turned bright red.

She straightened and grinned at him. "Now who's being too loud?"

He stared at her. "That… You…"

"Yes?"

He murmured in her ear, "That's not something a gentleman would normally ask of his wife."

"Isn't it? More's the pity, I liked doing it. I'd do more but I think you wouldn't last."

"You'd be right." He kissed her softly. "You are a wonder, Molly Holmes."

She smiled at him softly. "Thank you, my love." Molly looked down at her skirts thoughtfully. "This won't do." Reaching both hands behind her, she unhooked the skirt and slipped it and the petticoats off then laid them on the bench opposite them, leaving her in her drawers, stockings, and shoes.

"Very resourceful, my dear," Sherlock murmured approvingly.

"Mmm, thank you," Molly murmured as she straddled his lap and reached down to guide his cock to her entrance.

Sherlock held her hips, murmuring, "Don't tense up, stay relaxed." He smiled at her softly. "I love you, Molly."

She smiled back. "I love you, Sherlock." Molly slowly lowered herself onto his cock, wincing as she felt herself stretching around him and having to pause halfway to give herself more time to adjust.

"Molly?" Sherlock murmured worriedly.

"I'm alright," she murmured. She lowered herself the rest of the way, both of them gasping as he filled her to the hilt. Molly didn't move, still adjusting to his size.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, murmuring, "Molly, I love you so much. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be inside you."

"One body," she murmured, "one flesh."

"One heart." He kissed her softly.

She kissed him back and felt her body slowly relaxing around him. Sherlock must have felt it – he held her hips again and gave an experimental thrust.

Pleasure shot through her. "Oh God… Could you do that again, Sherlock? Please?"

He grinned. "As my lady wishes." Sherlock thrusted into her over and over, slowly, deeply, and she instinctively met him thrust for thrust. "You're so wet," he murmured. "And tight… God, you feel amazing."

Molly tried to articulate exactly what she was feeling. "I feel … overwhelmed by you, but in the best way… When you had your fingers in me, I wanted more…" She groaned softly. "Now I have you and you're even more than I expected and … and I know I'm going to want this all the time…"

Sherlock chuckled softly. "So am I, my darling…"

He reached down to stroke her clit and Molly climaxed so hard she saw stars. The additional wetness made it even easier for Sherlock to continue thrusting until he too climaxed, his seed filling her. Molly laid her head on his shoulder and he held her close as they waited for their breathing and their hearts to slow.

"Molly?" Sherlock murmured after a moment.

"Mmm?"

He chuckled softly. "I take it you enjoyed that."

"Mmm-hmm. Will it always be like that?"

"Not the pain. The more we make love, the more your body will get used to mine. As for pleasure, I think it'll be even better next time."

Molly laughed weakly. "I don't know if I can take more pleasure, Sherlock."

"That, sweetheart, is just the thing a new husband wants to hear."


	11. Chapter 11

If the newlywed couple showed up a bit disheveled, either no one noticed or no one cared to mention it. Everyone toasted the bride and groom then they had an excellent meal. Afterwards, Molly finally had the chance to waltz with the man she loved.

Sherlock, as she quickly learned, was a superb dancer. Also a possessive one – whenever another man tried to cut in, Sherlock would say that no one else was dancing with his wife. Molly found his behavior most amusing.

"You have to let me dance with other men at some point, Sherlock," she said, smiling.

He huffed in annoyance. "It's our wedding day, I should have you all to myself."

Molly smirked. "You did, in the carriage."

Sherlock blushed a bit then murmured, "And you say I'm incorrigible."

* * *

Once all the guests were gone, Violet and Siger bid them goodnight and went to bed. Molly walked with Sherlock to the west wing, on the other side of the manor from the family's bedrooms.

"It was kind of your parents to let us stay here for the weekend," she said, smiling.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "I think they simply wanted to ensure that we actually did get married." He sighed quietly. "I'm sorry we weren't able to go to the Continent."

Molly waved a hand in dismissal, smiling a bit. "That doesn't matter, I'm happy as long as we're together."

As soon as they reached the largest guestroom, Sherlock turned to her, smiling softly. "What would you like to do, sweetheart?"

She smiled softly. "I want to spend the rest of the night in your arms."

"That's just what I want as well."

They helped each other undress. Molly took in the sight of her nude husband and grinned. "Just like the day we met, only this time I don't have to look away."

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, not quite how I was when we met." He gestured to his erection.

"Mmm, yes, that is a rather large difference," she said, smirking.

He took her hands, laughing softly. "Thank you, my love." Sherlock took in her completely unclothed form for the first time. "You, Molly," he murmured, "are perfection." He moved his hands up to cup her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples into hardness.

Molly groaned softly, her eyes closing, then her hands grasped his arms when she felt her knees weaken. Sherlock picked her up and carried her to the bed. Molly waited until he laid her down gently before she grinned at him.

"You carry me as if I weigh nothing at all. You're that strong?"

Sherlock chuckled as he sat on the bed. "No, my dear, you are that small," he murmured. He slowly traced a finger from the hollow of her throat down her body. "A tiny fairy of a woman, dainty, delicate, beautiful, precious."

"Oh, Sherlock…" She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss, moaning into his mouth as his thumb found her clit and stroked it firmly. Her hands moved up to play with his curls and it was his turn to moan his appreciation.

"God, Molly…" he whispered. Sherlock continued to stroke her clit as he kissed his way down the column of her throat.

Molly moaned deeply. "More… God, I need you, Sherlock…"

He moved to cover her body with his, bracing his weight on his elbows. "I've just realized how much smaller you are than me."

She laughed softly. "Really? It took you this long?"

He chuckled. "I'm usually distracted by your loveliness. Am I too much for you?"

"Mmm, not at all." She kissed him softly and reached between them to stroke his cock.

Sherlock groaned. "Is that a clue, Dr. Holmes?"

"Very astute, Mr. Holmes," she murmured, grinning. "No wonder they call you the Great Detective."

He chuckled as he lowered his head to kiss her deeply. Molly sighed into his mouth as she kissed him back, then she shifted her hips a bit and guided his cock to her entrance. Sherlock groaned softly as he eased his cock into her.

"Oh God, Molly, you're so wet…" he murmured, closing his eyes from the sheer pleasure of it.

Molly wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper in. He still stretched her but it wasn't nearly as painful now. "I'm always wet around you, love. You're diving me mad…"

Sherlock chuckled softly then groaned as he filled her completely. "Considering that I'm the one who brought you into this life of debauchery, it's only fitting that I satisfy your newly-awakened needs." He held her close as he started to thrust slowly and deeply.

She clung to him, reveling in the near-overwhelming sensations as she met his thrusts. "I love you so much," she whispered as she nuzzled his neck.

"I love you, Molly," he murmured. Sherlock nibbled her earlobe, making her groan. He removed her legs from around his waist and pushed her knees back, thrusting harder.

The slightly different angle soon had Molly moaning his name as she climaxed hard around him.

Sherlock soon groaned loudly as he followed her over the edge. He slid out of her then laid beside her and pulled her into his arms, both of them still breathing hard.

Molly wrapped her arms around him and kissed him softly. "You make me feel so alive," she murmured.

"I hope I will always make you feel this way, my love," Sherlock murmured.

"You just have to be yourself, Sherlock." She closed her eyes, yawning softly.

He chuckled. "Go to sleep, my love. We can do more tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

Molly fell asleep to happy thoughts of her new life.

* * *

"Damn!"

She woke the next morning with a start to her husband's shouted curse.

"I am an idiot! An absolute idiot!"

Molly turned to see Sherlock at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and holding something she couldn't quite see, scowling at it. She sat up, her modesty dictating that she cover herself with the sheet before she addressed him. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

He looked up at her, surprised. "Forgive me for waking you, my dear." His scowl returned. "I was berating myself for forgetting last night the one thing I tried not to."

"And that was?"

"This." He held up the thing he'd been holding.

Molly's eyes widened. "That's a condom."

"Yes, and I had every intention of using it last night but in my haste to be inside you again, I forgot."

She brought a hand to her forehead, the beginnings of a headache already brewing. "Sherlock, you said you were clean."

"And so I am. I wasn't going to use it for disease prevention."

Molly lowered her hand to stare at him. "Then you wanted to use it to prevent pregnancy?"

"Yes, of course."

 _Where do I even begin?_ "Sherlock, you didn't have one when we were in the carriage."

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. "Unnecessary, that was your first time. Women don't conceive the first time they have sex, everyone knows that."

Molly groaned quietly. "I can't believe you, of all people, actually believe that old wives tale. A woman can get pregnant whether it's her first time or her fiftieth."

He stared at her. "I see… Well, no matter, I shall wear a condom with you from now on. If you're not already pregnant, it will prevent pregnancy, and if you are pregnant, no harm will come from it." The disapproval in his tone at the possibility of her being pregnant was clear.

"You are not wearing a condom with me, Sherlock," she said firmly.

"I just told you-"

"I heard you, but unlike you, I want children. You knew that."

"I thought I could persuade you."

"No, Sherlock." Molly hesitated for a moment before getting out of bed, wincing. She gently took the condom from him and tossed it into the wastepaper bin before taking his hands. "I love you. I want to have children with you. What I don't understand is why you don't want the same thing."

Sherlock pulled his hands away, glaring at her. "My reasons are my own. Do not question me in this, Molly."

"You're not making any sense!" Molly knew she was nearly in tears. "Why won't you tell me your reasons?"

"Enough! We will speak no more of this." He turned away from her.

"Sherlock-"

"Lestrade needs me in town," he muttered. "I will be back before dinner." He left without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

Molly spent the day trying to figure out her husband's reasons for not wanting children. His parents were unable to offer any insight. Mary, who was still in the area while John was with Sherlock, was equally flummoxed – Sherlock was quite fond of the Watsons' daughter.

When Sherlock didn't return by dinnertime as promised, Molly tried not to worry. He'd told her himself that his cases sometimes took longer than he thought. The hours went by and there was still no sign of him. Molly went to bed at midnight, praying he was alright.

She woke up to the sound of movement in the room. She sat up, seeing that the room was still dark. "Sherlock?" She lit the lamp beside the bed.

Her husband stood on his side of the bed, swaying on his feet. His curls and clothing were in complete disarray, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were bloodshot.

 _He's drunk!_ Molly quickly got out of bed. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled at her dopily. "Molly! Hello, Molly!" He unhappily took in her modest white nightgown. "My Molly, what are you doing in that?" Sherlock grinned. "Take it off."

"No, Sherlock," she said gently but firmly. "You need to rest."

He waved a hand in dismissal and nearly lost his balance. "We can rest later, after sex." Sherlock frowned in confusion. "No, not sex – making love." He grinned. "Because I love you. A lot. More than a lot. Bunches." He looked worried. "You know that, right, my Molly?"

She sighed softly. "Yes, Sherlock, I know." Molly started to unbutton his waistcoat.

Sherlock grinned at her. "You changed your mind?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "No, I just don't want you sleeping in your clothes."

Sherlock tried to help her with the buttons, but his uncoordinated fingers were more of a hindrance. He suddenly stopped, frowning. "I just remembered I'm cross with you. Why am I cross with you, my Molly?" Realization hit him after a moment. "Baby. You want a baby and I don't."

"Correct, but you wouldn't tell me why."

"Nope, still not gonna tell you." He crossed his arms. "You're very naughty for not doing what I want, my Molly."

"We can talk about it in the morning. If you won't let me help you undress, you can do it yourself." She got back into bed.

Sherlock fumbled a few times but eventually got out of his clothes and crawled into bed nude. He tried to kiss Molly but she pulled away.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock," she said firmly.

"Am I still your Sherlock, Molly?" he asked sadly.

She smiled at him softly. "Always."

"Even when I'm cross with you?"

"Yes, that's what 'always' means, Sherlock."

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "I don't like being cross with you. It makes me drink and you won't make love with me when I'm drunk." He pouted.

"We'll talk in the morning, love," she promised.

Sherlock seemed satisfied with that. He gave her a wet kiss on the cheek then was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Molly sighed quietly and put out the lamp before falling asleep herself.

* * *

The next morning, Molly woke to find herself and Sherlock tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets. Trying to extricate herself carefully, she suddenly felt his erection pressing against her stomach.

"Don't move," Sherlock murmured sleepily, his eyes still closed. "Unless, that is, you want to injure me."

Molly held still. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was until a moment ago." Sherlock opened his eyes then immediately closed them, wincing. "Bloody hell…"

She couldn't help smiling a bit. "Hangover?"

"In spades," he muttered. He cracked one eye open and glared at her. "I'm happy to know my agony amuses you."

Molly smirked. "Self-inflicted, my love."

"And why is that? Oh yes, because my wife refuses to be practical." Groaning in pain, he managed to free himself and leave the bed.

Molly couldn't help watching him, and his erection, as he paced the length of the room. "Darling, please cover up. Anyone could walk in here and see you."

"The door is locked," Sherlock muttered. "Besides, anyone foolish enough to walk in on a newlywed couple at this hour deserves what they get." He turned away from her and she admired his backside.

"Talk to me, Sherlock."

"Wanting to bring children into the world is foolish."

"Oh, and I suppose that makes your parents, my parents, and the Watsons foolish?"

"Frankly, yes."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Listen to yourself. You just called your parents foolish for having you, my parents foolish for having me, and John and Mary foolish for having little Rosamunde."

Sherlock didn't say anything, he simply continued to pace. Molly noticed his erection wasn't going away either. She got up and removed her nightgown then determinedly walked over to Sherlock, who was pacing away from her. As soon as she got close enough, she grabbed him by the arm and turned him to her. Sherlock looked down at her in surprise then he groaned softly when she wrapped a hand around his cock and started to stroke him.

"I thought you might need help with this," she murmured.

"I … er … might…"

Molly smiled knowingly. "And your headache?"

"What headache?"

She chuckled. "Come back to bed, Sherlock," she purred, grinning at him. "We can work out all your problems there."

"Alright…"

With a final stroke, she let go of his cock then took his hand, leading him back to the bed. Sherlock stopped just before he got to the bed. Not noticing, Molly climbed into bed then looked at her husband, who was pulling something out of the wastepaper bin.

When Molly saw it was the condom that he fished out, she glared at him. "That is not welcome in our bed, Sherlock."

"Technically, it's not our bed, it's my parents' guest bed."

"Whosever bed it is, it's not welcome. If we're going to make love, then there has to be nothing between us."

He glared back at her. "Then we are not making love."

Molly stared at him and felt tears in her eyes. "Sherlock … please … tell me why…"

"The fact that I don't want children should be reason enough for you, Molly."

"Well, it's not. I need to know why you would deny us the chance to be parents."

"Molly, considering your age and occupation, you are terribly naïve."

"About what?" she asked warily.

"Everything."

"About you, certainly," she said quietly, turning away.

"I told you before that I didn't want children."

"Just like you, I thought I could persuade you." She swallowed hard then turned to look at him, one tear falling down her cheek. "I want a baby, Sherlock – your baby."

He stared at her and she thought she saw his expression softening but then he said firmly, "That will never happen."

"Then neither will sex."

"Molly-"

"No, Sherlock. Either we make love without a condom or we don't make love at all."

His eyes narrowed. "So be it."

The rest of the day was so chilly between them that Molly was convinced winter had come in the middle of summer. During the carriage ride back to London, all she could think about was their previous ride together. They barely spoke to each other once they reached Baker Street.

That night, they didn't even look at each other as they got ready for bed. Molly did feel a glimmer of hope when Sherlock put on the striped pajamas she had bought for him. Once they were in bed, however, he didn't so much as touch her.

In the morning, she found herself curled at her husband's side and his arm around her. Sherlock was either genuinely asleep or faking it very well.

"I love you, Sherlock," she murmured. "Nothing will ever change that." He didn't reply but she did feel his arm around her give a gentle squeeze. Molly smiled to herself, certain that he was only pretending to be asleep, then laid her head on his shoulder, sighing softly.

* * *

Unfortunately, things between them did not improve after that. The longer they went without making love, or even touching each other at all, the crosser they became. After a fortnight, they only spoke to each other at St. Bartholomew's, and only about cases. Watching the couple's non-interactions in the morgue, John would get embarrassed over his best friend's behavior, and Lestrade would be confused by it all.

After waking up curled to her husband every morning but doing her best to ignore him every night, Molly was heartsick. Her only solution was to move upstairs to John's old room. If Sherlock had any objection to her plan, he didn't voice it. That situation went on for another fortnight.

Finally, over dinner one night, Sherlock said quietly, "I fear this isn't going to work for us, Molly. I at least cannot go on like this indefinitely. You are too much of a distraction and it is affecting the Work."

Molly stared at him. "Sherlock … what are you saying?"

"I believe it is time for you to return to your father. Perhaps with distance-"

All of the blood left her face. "You're saying you want to divorce me?"

"No, of course not. I still want you for my wife but … not like this."

"Do you want me to leave? Truly?"

He looked away, not saying a word.

She decided to take that as a yes. "I will leave in the morning," she said quietly, her heart breaking.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thank you so much to all of my readers, you are the best!

* * *

Molly was at her father's house for a week before she realized she had missed her monthly cycle. She knew exactly what it meant. What she didn't know was what to tell Sherlock.

Mary came to visit her the next day. The first thing the other woman did was go into a quarter-hour rant about the failings of men in general and Sherlock in particular.

Molly interrupted her mid-sentence. "Yes, Mary, I know my husband is a fool, but he's also about to be a father. What on Earth do I tell him?"

Her friend stared at her then broke into a wide, delighted grin. "You're pregnant?! This is wonderful! Now he'll **have** to get his head out of his arse."

"Mary!" Molly couldn't help giggling. "This is serious. Sherlock doesn't want a child, he's said that repeatedly. What do I tell him now that there is one on the way?"

"Tell him to be a man and do his duty."

"No, no, that's the last thing I should do. I want him to be a father because he wants to, not because he has to." She sighed heavily.

Mary reached over to pat her hand sympathetically. "John is with him now. Hopefully, my husband can talk some sense into yours."

* * *

The next day, Molly was in the morgue, examining the body of a dead prostitute, when her husband and Mary's came in. Sherlock had been saying something but stopped mid-sentence when he saw her.

Molly smiled happily at John. "Good afternoon, John." Her smile faded when she turned to Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes."

John tipped his hat to her, smiling. "Hello, Molly." He glanced at her stomach and Molly knew Mary must have told him.

Sherlock didn't notice John's actions, he was too busy staring at her. "Dr. Holmes … Molly-"

"Yes?" she asked, more than a little impatient.

"I … er … may we speak?" He glanced at John and the corpse. "In private?"

"I'm sure anything you want to say to me can be said in front of John and the late Miss Nichols."

"I very much doubt that." Sherlock glanced around the morgue then took her upper arm and practically dragged her into her miniscule office. As soon as the door was shut and locked, he had his arms around her and was kissing her passionately.

Molly quickly pulled out of his embrace. "Sherlock, stop!"

"No," he said firmly as he took her in his arms again. Molly tried to push him away but he wouldn't budge. "Not until I've had my say." Sherlock sighed heavily. "I love you, Molly. This time apart has been excruciating. I ache for you more now than I ever did when we were engaged."

She glared at him. "If all you want is a willing partner then I'm sure one of Miss Nichols' cohorts will satisfy you."

"I want more than just a willing partner. I want the woman I gave my heart to, the woman who makes me feel like I can do anything, the woman-"

"The woman who is carrying your child," Molly said, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock stared at her, his face paling. "You're … you're expecting?"

"Yes, Sherlock," she said evenly.

He suddenly let go of her. "I must go…" He moved to leave but she grabbed his wrist.

"We have to talk about this," Molly said firmly.

"Later, I need… Later." He yanked his arm away then left her office and the morgue as fast as he could.

For the first time in her life, Molly started to cry at her place of employment.

* * *

The next day, Molly sat alone in her father's sitting room, an open book on her lap but she had long given up trying to read it. All she could think of was Sherlock's face when she told him they were going to have a baby.

 _He looked like his worst nightmare had come true. God, what am I going to do now? I can't have this baby without him. The baby needs a father. I need my husband._ Molly buried her face in her hands and wept.

"Molly?" came Sherlock's voice from the doorway. Before she had time to look up, his hands were on her shoulders.

She looked up to see him kneeling in front of her, sporting a worried look and an impressive black eye. "Who hit you?" she asked softly, worried herself.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Watson, but never mind about me. Are you alright? Did something happen to the baby?"

"No, the baby's fine … I was missing you." She paused. "What do you mean John hit you?"

He chuckled. "He was trying to get me to 'be a man,' and made his position quite clear." Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. "Molly … I have treated you abominably. It was not fair of me to try to impose my view of having children onto you."

"Just tell me why," she implored. Molly took his hands in hers. "It's fear, isn't it? You would have told me if it were anything else."

Sherlock sighed quietly. "Yes, it's fear. Fear of losing you, the baby, or even both of you in childbirth."

"Oh, darling…" She reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. "The chance of losing one or both of us exists, yes, but the chances are so small nowadays, it's worth the risk."

"That is just what the Watsons told me," Sherlock said, bringing a hand up to cover hers. "You, Molly, have come to mean so much to me in such a short amount of time. Just the thought of losing you was enough to chill me to the bone." He closed his eyes, sighing again. "It was wrong of me to push you away. I was such a fool! I should have done better." He opened his eyes. "I promise I will do better, Molly. I cannot lose you again!"

"Oh, Sherlock," she said, smiling at him lovingly, "you never lost me. You can push me away a hundred times and I will always, always come back."

Sherlock beamed at her. "I am never pushing you away again."

She took a deep breath. "What about the baby?"

He lightly laid a hand over her stomach. "I promise here and now to always love our child, just as much as I love you." He grinned. "And perhaps we can talk about having a few more after this one?"

Molly laughed softly. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"And I love you, Molly Holmes." He looked down at her stomach. "And you, Baby Holmes."


End file.
